


James Bond: The Last Dragon

by rikacain



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Also starring Severine, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, Featuring Dragons, Gen, M/M, and Joseph
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rikacain/pseuds/rikacain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I'm pretty sure it's the 'latest' dragon, Bond, you're not the only one.)</p><p>(No one's asking you, Q.)</p><p>In a universe where a moron such as Joseph exists, virgins are sacrificed to the dragon. Said virgins are not necessarily female.</p><p>[Coming out of the closet soon in a mountain top* near you.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode One: The Day They Figured The Dragon Was Gay

**Author's Note:**

> *Singaporeans please note that Bukit Timah does not count as a mountain.
> 
> Producers:  
> consultingteadrinker  
> drelfina
> 
> Casting:  
> Gabs  
> Gwen

The way it starts is utterly ridiculous.

“We’ve run out of virgins,” Severine tells Q with a straight face.

He raises an eyebrow. “Well,” he says. “We can’t exactly buy one from the next town over, can we?”

He expects her to laugh. “They’ve run out of virgins too,” she says instead, face set into a grim frown.

It’s to be expected, he supposes. With the dragon terrorising the villages around these parts, it’s only natural that there will be an increase in demand which will deplete the natural stock. He is not talking about the cattle, which are already depleted.

(Q does not bat an eyelid at how people who had never have sex have become a commodity.)

It’s not as if they hadn’t tried other methods. The pitchforks and fire method was horridly unsuccessful with bits of burning twigs dropping all over the place and hours of stumbling around the woods finding the dragon’s den. The knight the palace had sent them had been just more than a tasty snack (Sir LeChiffre will not be sorely missed.). Hence, they have finally resorted to the tried and true method.

Sacrificing virgins.

Female virgins.

Female, young virgins. The old hag at the end of the road does not count.

“It killed Fields?” Q asks.

Severine nods. “They found her body at the foot of the mountain. Apparently she tripped.” She pauses. “They also found her naked.”

“The list of rejected virgins grows,” Q sighs theatrically. “Who’s left?”

“No one.”

He frowns. “Not even Dolly?”

"Her father married her off to Jackson just yesterday. Apparently he was desperate enough," she shrugs. "No one's a virgin anymore."

"So what happens now?" he asks and that is the exact moment Joseph breaks down his door.

The burly man lunges for him and Q does not move if only because Joseph broke down his door and he is in shock, thank you very much, and was this about the milk he borrowed from Hilda because he swears he had nothing to do with it. He is dragged out of his house into the town square to the cacophony of Severine screaming at Joseph and the curious townspeople gathering to listen.

Q tries to go along quietly - whatever the misunderstanding was, it could be resolved.

Or maybe not.

"My friends," Joseph bellows as he holds Q's hair in a painful grip. "The dragon refuses to accept our offering of virgins."

"So what does that have to do with me?" Q says from his much lowered position.

Nobody hears him.

"The only conclusion we have is that the dragon terrorizing us," Joseph pauses for a dramatic effect. "Is obviously gay!"

There is a stunned silence throughout the town square, before the whispering begins. Yes, that must be it, those girls were killed because a dragon is capable of homicidal orientations. Q's quite sure the virgins are meant to be eaten, and voices his opinions aloud.

No one listens.

Joseph continues on his hypothesis. "Therefore, we have been on the wrong path from the start." He bows his head as if in prayer, and Q snorts at his display of penance. Joseph was the one who wanted the sacrificing of virgins in the first place.

"Or maybe those virgins weren't virgins in the first place," Q interjects drily.  The grip on his hair tightens, and he refuses to whimper.

"So we shall repent by giving our male virgins!" and here Joseph tugs Q up like a prize.

"I am not a virgin," Q says.

As usual, no one listens.

* * * * *

They truss him up to the random tree number one, Joseph praying for him and for the dragon to eat him and be appeased. Q tells him that he's a damned fool.

"My brother," Joseph tells him, putting a hand on his head. Q wants to cut his hand off. "I understand your reluctance - but remember, this is for the greater good of our village. You will be honored in our tales."

"Is that what you told them when you tied them to this tree?" Q asks harshly.

Joseph does not answer, instead lighting up the pyre. The fire starts easily enough, sending up a column of black smoke that signals the whole fucking world that hey, a virgin is here for your taking.

How disappointed they will be when the offering is male and not even virginal.

"Be brave, my brother," Joseph shouts at him as the whole procession leaves, and Q curses back very colorfully.

He slides down against the bark of the tree, trying to dislodge the knot, burn through the ropes with friction, or something. Anything. Q is not entirely fond of dragons - especially not this one, considering it blew up several farms and razed their whole grain stock down. Their cattle is apparently more important than their own lives, Q suddenly realizes.

Sighing sullenly, he leans back against the tree. If he's going to die, he doesn't want to see it coming on great wings and a huge ball of fire. He's a coward that way.

Q closes his eyes, and waits.

* * * * *

"Well, this is new."

His eyes snap open to the shadows cast by the setting sun - and instead of round two of Q vs. Joseph and his equally if not less so intelligent friends, he is greeted by a stranger lounging against another tree. Said stranger regards him amusedly with ice-blue eyes. "I thought that the usual would be young and female."

Said stranger is also naked.

"We ran out of those types," Q grumbles, averting his eyes. "They sent me instead. I hope it'll be happy," he adds venomously.

"What will be happy?" The stranger asks curiously.

"The bloody dragon, of course. Even if you are running stark naked around these parts I'm quite sure you would have heard of the dragon." Q huffs impatiently. "Now if you would leave, I would actually like to die in peace - and without your genitals as my last view."

“Die?”

“Yes, die,” he snaps. “That’s what dragons usually do, isn’t it? Eat the offerings? God knows what it’s eating now that all the cattle is gone. You’d think it’d try to moderate itself - but no, the whole bunch of cattle in one fell swoop.”

“You mean they died?” Q turns to squint at the man, who looks vaguely surprised. “Those girls before you. They died?”

“They did. And I’m going to be dead, too.” He sniffs disdainfully. “Now if you would please leave, and find some clothes. I reiterate, I do not want my last view of life to be of your genitals.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” the man says smoothly; a man one second, and a dragon suddenly furls out on the spot he was standing on the next. The dragon has its lips curled up in what seems to be a smug smile, exposing far too many sharp teeth for Q to be comfortable with.

"Oh," he says.

He faints.

* * * * *

When he wakes up, he is ensconced in a pile of pillows and covered with an embroidered silk blanket. His first thought goes to 'I must be dreaming'.

His second thought upon seeing the mounds of gold and silver and precious stones and is that a suit of armor - is 'oh shit dragon den'.

The dragon, man, is nowhere to be seen. Q slowly gets up, making his way over to the mouth of the cave. He peers over the edge, and his stomach drops.

It's a steep decline down to darkness, and Q thinks he may just throw up.

"Try not to fall," someone advises him.

He startles, almost losing his balance - but a hand grips his arm and prevents him from falling over. Q turns around slowly, the amused countenance of the man coming into view. "Try not to surprise me then," he retorts drily when he finds his tongue.

The man is still naked.

"This is the part where you usually say thank you," the man notes.

"This is the part where I either demand you to let me return to my village, or beg you to spare my life," Q shoots back.

"Which one would you choose?" The man's tone is flippant, and Q has the vague urge to punch him.

"Neither," he says after a brief consideration.

The answer seems to surprise the man. "Why?" He asks.

"Because if you wanted to eat me, you wouldn't be talking with the only one mouth you have," Q says, fighting the second urge to roll his eyes. "And if I ask you to let me go, you'll either refuse or they'll send me back here."

"You didn't volunteer?" The man asks.

"No one volunteered to be killed by a dragon," Q snaps. "Us humans are not suicidal, unlike what you may think."

"And what do I think?" The man counters.

"Do I look like a dragon to you?"

"No."

"Then how would I know?"

"You wouldn't," the man agrees. "I thought you humans wanted some sort of treasure from me."

"What the bleeding hell will we do with a golden cup or some useless ornament?" Q asks, affronted.

"They're pleasing to the eye."

"And otherwise useless. We'd sell it, and no one would buy it because this whole place is piss-poor." Q stares at the man irritably. "So why did you strip and kill the virgins we sent you?"

"I didn't kill them," the man says, defensively.

"Well, they're all dead anyway," Q says. "And you expect me to believe you?"

"The only thing I did to them," and the man pulls Q away from the edge of the rock into his arms, "is show them a good time," he purrs.

Q thinks for less than a split-second. "And that's why they were naked."

"Yes," the man says, stroking a hand down Q's back.

"And so you chased them out of your den and they fell to their death?"

The hand stops. "No," the man says slowly. "I brought them halfway down, and then they told me they could make it home."

"Is that your idea of a one night stand?" Q asks incredulously.

"What's wrong with it?" He frowns.

"Everything, and also the fact that they're still all dead," Q says, cutting. He yanks himself away from the man. "Now, you have two options."

"You're not really in a position - "

"You probably want me less than those other virgins, so listen," Q says sharply. "First is you let me stay here. I oppose this notion."

"Why do you even suggest it?"

"To give you the semblance of a choice. Second, you bring me to some city far away from my village. There's a bigoted arse there who I never want to see again in my whole life." Q folds his arms, leveling the man with an impressive stare. “What will it be?”

The man thinks, and Q waits impatiently.

“You’re staying,” he finally decides.

“Excuse you,” Q says.

“You said I had a choice,” the man points out almost smugly.

Q splutters. "I don't want to stay here!"

The man shrugs. "I could use some company. And if you want to leave that much, give me a month."

"Are you really that lonely? Don't dragons have social circles, or do you just stink at making friends?" Q paces, avoiding the tottering pile of gold by an inch.

"We have territory wars," he tells Q with a glint in his eye.

"Oh." Q thinks. One month is a small price to pay for a lifetime away from Joseph's stupidity. Besides, he can always try and escape if the dragon ever tries to eat him. "Do you eat humans?"

"Figuratively."

"Literally."

"No," the man grimaces. "Tough and chewy. Don't flatter yourself, you don't look remotely appetizing."

"On the contrary, I am very flattered," Q replies, because he rather be alive than eaten and dead. Nevertheless, he keeps his guard up. "One month, then you bring me to a city over."

"Sounds agreeable," the man hums. "What do I call you?"

"Q," he tells him. "Don't ask."

"I won't." The man raises an eyebrow. "I'm James Bond."

There is a slight pause, before Q says, "that doesn't sound remotely dragon-like."

"And you would be the expert, I suppose?" James asks archly.

Q flaps his hand at the air in vague gestures. "You'd think Eragon, or Drelfius, but not James."

"It's my name," said dragon whose name is not dragon-like snorts.

"Still."

"Q doesn't sound human either," James says and Q quickly says, "right, James is a lovely name. James."

"Q."

Q smiles, or tries to. "I look forward to staying with you."

James smiles back, the grin eerily similar to the one Q saw on him as a dragon. "The sentiment is mutual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter floating around; so better post it up instead of just leaving it lying there.

The general idea of living together is extremely simple - you share one space as your living quarters, even if that space happens to be a dragon’s den or a stable or a house.

The detailed idea is far from simple.

Now, by living together you are expected to pay the land’s taxes, the royalties taxes, the village taxes and the general service provided by the passerby from over the hills and far away, that oh-so-helpful person who is delivering a letter from Old Aunt Susie who isn’t dead yet and expects you to pay them for their trouble. And when you open up the letter, you find out that Old Aunt Susie still isn’t dead, much to your dismay, and that she requires money (again) and can you please send the grubby man who delivered your letter back to her with half the coins in your purse.

Yes, half the coins in your purse. She’s not being picky, it doesn’t matter whether you have fifty gold pieces or two coppers, she just needs money of some sort. And pay the man too, she won’t fall for the same trick twice.

Taxes and delivery services otherwise, there is also the matter of buying food and other necessities into the space-in-which-you-call-your-home, and making sure it stays clean. You are also expected to deal with your living partner’s horrid flaws.

Such as the lack of clothes in the general vicinity.

"Will you please put on some clothes," Q repeats himself for the umpteenth time.

“Why should I?” James asks lazily, sprawled over an honestly uncomfortable looking pile of gold. He supposes that that’s the social norm for dragons - get gold, drape self over, sleep.

“Because you actually have them,” Q tells him wearily.

And the dragon does, much to Q’s initial surprise. In a corner of the cave, there is a huge mahogany wardrobe which could have fit Q’s house inside. In that wardrobe, there are plenty of clothes.

(Q will deny being fascinated by the variety of clothes he had found - heavy doublets made for the winter with shades of olive and plum, robes of silk that slipped through his fingers, several gowns made for ladies to dance at court.)

What he does not point out is that neither of them have anything appropriate within the selection of clothes to wear. The dragon had just taken what was aesthetically pleasing, and Q honestly believes that he does not want to see James in a ball gown. He might need the most pungent of onions to clean his eyes.

A robe would be enough, really. At the very least, it would cover the genitals.

James turns slightly, causing several coins to clink to the ground. Q hopes that there won’t be a lot of tossing during his sleep - he’s a light sleeper, and might actually attempt to kill the dragon without enough rest.

“I’m inside the cave,” James says.

“You didn’t wear clothes even outside of the cave,” Q reminds him.

“But they’re constricting.”

“They’re necessary,” Q says, his tone slipping into exasperation.

“Why,” James repeats like a goddamn toddler constantly asking _why_ and Q thinks he can bang his head against the wall. How many centuries old was this bastard anyway? “No one’s going to walk into the cave and find me naked.”

“I’m here,” Q grits out.

“You should take off your clothes too,” James suggests. “They really restrict movement.”

“James,” Q says, giving up all pretence of being civil. “Let me make this very clear. I do not want your genitals to be part of my daily viewings.”

And the bastard just eyes him with amusement. “I don’t want to wear clothes,” he says.

“Well, turn into a bloody dragon if you can’t function in polite human society,” Q snaps but something flashes in James’ eyes and suddenly there’s a dragon curled around the pile of gold, its scales shimmering as the muscles beneath shifted. Q would be able to appreciate it another time if it wasn’t for his immediate dive behind the mound of gold number eight and the yelp he will claim is from a stray dog wandering the mountains outside.

He has good ears, alright? Don’t argue.

Then all the gold suddenly shifts in waves and Q slips from his rapidly diminishing mound of gold number eight just in time to see James roll over onto his back, his tail flicking out to _not_ hide the enlarged piece of genitalia on his body, in Q’s full sight.

The first thing Q throws (in his panic? frustration? prudishness?) is a plate that bounces off James’ hind leg. The goblet hits the soft underside of the dragon’s belly, and the candle holder glances off the hard scales on his side.

The shield is what hits home in the end, and James gives a truly terrifying roar that has Q dropping to the ground and preparing himself mentally to be a pile of ashes and charred bones. _Severine_ , he thinks, although for the life of him he will never understand why he would choose his last words to be to Severine instead of some higher power above who may save him due to their overwhelming fountain of virtue, _Severine, please take care of my chickens_.

Hold on to that thought. His chickens are probably roasted or grilled or made into chicken strips by now. Severine is very fond of chicken dishes. Damn it.

A groan of pain distracts him from his thoughts and Q cautiously peeks over his hand. James the dragon is gone, and in its place James the human is curled up on the floor, looking particularly pained. His hands are hiding his genitals from sight.

Q approaches the man warily, sidling up to his front. "Well?" he demands with more confidence he actually felt.

"I'll wear clothes," James grits out, and Q counts his first victory.

* * *

James apparently gets his cattle from many places, because there are two sides of a mountain to actually raid the villages from. Q stares at the pile of... Charred bones in front of him.

“I can’t eat this,” he told James frankly.

“Why not?” James shoots back. “Don’t humans eat sheep?”

“That’s sheep?” Q says incredulously. There’s some sort of wisp-like thing hanging off the end of a bone, and it disintegrates the moment Q touches it. “How do you even taste anything other than ashes?”

“The wool gives the meat a light fluffy taste,” James retorts peevishly.

“The wool isn’t edible.”

“You never tried it.”

“I’ll have you know that I did.”

James scoffs. “You’re a horrid liar.”

Q scowls at him and pokes the pile of bones. “I can’t exactly suck the marrow from this.”

James picks one up and breaks it into half effortlessly. “You could try,” he smirks. He puts one broken end of half of the broken bone in his mouth, sucking on it. Q ignores the possible connotations to that action and takes it for the challenge that it is supposed to be.

The marrow tastes disgusting, and James snorts when Q tells him so. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he admits sheepishly, and Q throws the bone at him. To his chagrin, it misses.

“I still can’t eat it,” Q says sullenly after he threw the whole pile of bones at James’ face, never once hitting his target. He has never seen the dragon’s face so full of mirth.

The dragon sighs, either from laughing far too much to do anything else or from Q’s apparent lack of faith in his abilities. “Here,” he says, and produces a whole goddamn dead cow out of nowhere. Q gapes at it. “I just brought those to mess with you.”

“How,” Q said faintly. “How did you.”

“Magic,” James says carelessly and this, this opens up a whole new world to Q.

* * *

“What do you mean, you don’t believe in magic,” James says disbelievingly after Q’s spluttering and confusion over well, magic.

The man draws himself up to his full height. “There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for every occurrence that people often cast off as _magic_ ,” Q says, enunciating the very last word with great distaste. “More often than not, it’s just a great hoax.”

“I just did magic in front of you,” James points out, his finger pointing at the corpse of the cow. Q does not look at it.

“I’ll find out how you did it,” Q mutters. The dragon snorts.

“Let me save you the trouble,” he says, “it’s magic.”

“Well, I’m not accepting it,” Q snaps. “It can’t be magic.”

“A dragon stands in front of a human and the human says he can’t do magic,” James grumbles. “Of bloody course.”

Q opens his mouth to give a witty retort he has yet to think of, but at that very moment his stomach gives a huge growl. He shuts his mouth, the tip of his ears turning pink.

“Truce?” James offers, with all the sagacity of a hermit with no social contact for god knows how many years.

“Truce,” Q agrees, and because he is a little shit, “can I have the meat medium-rare?”

His only options of steak later that night are either barely cooked or on the scorched side of well done; but the company is pleasant and the conversation engaging. Besides, it is a far better partner he had up here instead of the people in the village far below.

Being a dragon, James apparently did not give a shit about human conventions, and Q counts that in his blessings.

* * *

“This is a waste of our time,” Drickel grumbles. His partner huddles next to him, the two desperately trying to keep warm under the thin blanket they had brought. Nightfall makes the air colder and the wind sharper; they had been here all day and the last sacrifice of Ryabalt had yet to appear.

How long did the dragon need the sacrifice for, anyway? It had been a coincidence when they had stumbled onto the first woman making her way down the mountain; an accident when their appearance had caused her to fall down a cliff and rip her clothes off in the brambly bushes below in the process.

(It is stupidity that keeps them waiting for the next woman to come along, at which they would capture her and sell her into the slave trade; stupidity again when they chased every consecutive woman off the same damn cliff.)

Parsus rubs his hands together. “You don’t say,” he snootily replies, “but it should be any moment now. If not, it means the dragon finally ate a human.”

“And how will we know that?”

“We fucking won’t,” Parsus snaps. “Now stop whining and keep your trap shut, unless you want the heat to escape your mouth. I ain’t keeping your cold dead corpse next to me.”

“We should go,” Drickel says stubbornly. “The woman isn’t going to appear anytime soon. Let’s go.”

“Shut it.” Parsus shivered violently before he continued to speak. “We’ll give it until dawn. If she ain’t out by dawn, we’re going to go back down to the village.”

“And do what?”

“You can decide for yourself,” he says, mildly malicious. “This is a waste of time, after all. You find something better to do.”

“I fucking hope I will,” Drickel mutters, before curling into himself.

They stay, silent and watchful through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was an exercise in crack and had no real plot. Sorry to disappoint.

**Author's Note:**

> (I have honestly no idea what I am doing with my life and this fic.)


End file.
